The whitewashed hallways of the Berlin hospital muted the noise of the outside world.
Inside, in one of the isolated rooms of the secure wing, Sloane lay motionless beneath the crisp white sheets.
The IV dripped slowly.
The EKG sent out soft, steady signals.
The monitor's quiet beeping matched the rhythm of her breathing.
The world still knew nothing.
The press only suspected something had happened, but no official statement had been released.
Lennox hadn't allowed it.
This wasn't for them.
The room was dim, lit only by the opalescent morning light filtering in through the window.
The city outside stirred between hangover and uncertainty, but here, in this quiet corner, only one thing existed: return.
Lennox sat in the armchair beside Sloane's bed, still wearing the same black h
